Jake by C. Petit (chromebook ebook reader TXT) 📕

including the ’76, a Winchester ’73 rifle, a ’73 carbine and a Sharps musket chambered for the .45 caliber cartridge. There was one twelve-gauge double-barreled shotgun and the oddity of the group, a British-made Martini-Henry rifle. It was similar to the Sharps, but its cartridge was quite different. The British breech-loader fired a tapered cartridge that held a slightly thicker paper-wrapped bullet than the Sharps’ .45. His father only had two boxes of ammunition for the Martini-Henry when he bought it, and Jake had never seen it fired before he enlisted.

He stood and walked around the desk to the gun display. He didn’t take down any of the long guns from the rack on the wall but opened the top drawer of the wide cabinet beneath. He found the rows of Winchester-branded ammunition neatly ordered by caliber. After closing the top drawer, he opened the second and found the Sharps and Martini-Henry cartridges and the shotgun shells. He opened both lids of the British rifle’s cartridges and was surprised to find only three missing.

Jake then closed the middle drawer and slid the bottom one out. There were four Colt model 1873 pistols all chambered to use the Winchester .44 cartridge. He lifted one from the drawer and found it well-oiled with empty chambers. After he returned the pistol, he closed the drawer and left the office. He’d ask Dave if his father had bought more guns while he was gone. He couldn’t imagine his father running off without taking at least one of the Winchesters and leaving his ’76 behind.

He soon entered his own bedroom and walked to his large chest of drawers. In her letters, his mother had assured him that she kept all of his things where he’d left them in the wish that he’d soon return. He hoped that his father hadn’t taken his guns.

Before he opened the bottom drawer where he stored his Colt and gunbelt, he worked his way down from the top. He smiled when he found his neatly folded shirts in the top drawer. He needed some civilian clothes, and his shirts should still fit. They were baggy enough before he left. He checked the second drawer with his britches, which he knew would be too short and too tight, then the sock and underwear drawer. He could tell that his mother not only kept his clothes, but periodically laundered them to keep them from mildew.

He finally opened the fourth drawer and was relieved when he found his set of saddlebags. He lifted them out then set them on the top of the dresser. He opened the right side and slid out his Colt. Before he’d enlisted, he’d unloaded it, cleaned it thoroughly then coated the metal with gun oil. He then wrapped it in oil cloth and a cotton towel. He suspected that once he was wearing his blue uniform, they wouldn’t let him keep the pistol. He only learned otherwise when he joined his unit. Many of the other troopers carried their own pistols and some had Winchesters, which the army still didn’t issue to its soldiers. Jake wasn’t about to return to the ranch for his own weapons. He hadn’t been back since he enlisted and now regretted it, but not because of the guns.

He unfolded the cloth and found his Colt in the same condition he’d left it. He’d have to clean it again, but he preferred the .45 version, probably just because his father didn’t. He left it on the dresser then removed his gunbelt and two boxes of .45 Long Colt ammunition from the left saddlebag. He returned the empty saddlebags to his drawer, closed it and then walked to his closet.

Jake opened the door and found his two coats and two jackets on hangers and his four different hats on the top shelf. His two pairs of boots were clean and appeared to be recently polished, which made him feel even more guilty. They still fit because his feet hadn’t grown that much, and they were roomy before he escaped into the army. But tucked into the corner was his own Winchester ’76. After the Kay Smith incident, his father had bought the one he wanted, so he had to wait another month before Mister Bannister received another shipment. He reminded himself to pay a visit to S.D. Bannister Firearms tomorrow to buy more ammunition.

He hadn’t wrapped the rifle, but did empty it, clean it and coat it with a thin layer of grease. He left it where it was for now. He had a lot more to do before he’d need it. But finding his room virtually unchanged since he left was a bit unnerving. Except for the same light layer of dust that seemed to be the only evidence of his mother’s passing, it was as if he had just gone to town for a few hours.

Jake left his room and walked to the kitchen to make some coffee while he waited for Dave Forrest. He’d talk to the others in the chow house before supper.

He had just built the fire in the cookstove and set the coffeepot on a hot plate when he heard a horse loudly pull to a stop just outside the open back door. Dave Forrest was here.

Jake stepped closer to the doorway just as Dave leapt onto the short back porch and trotted into the kitchen. Dave grinned, took two long strides and embraced Jake like a son.

“Where have you been, Jake?” Dave asked as he stepped back and scanned him from his boots to his sandy brown hair.

Jake smiled before he replied, “I’ll tell you after we sit down.”

Dave nodded as he and Jake turned to the big kitchen table and found their seats.

Jake said, “I didn’t get the sheriff’s telegram until three days ago. He didn’t know where I was, so he sent it to the War Department. Why didn’t anyone know